Lisa Cramer: You want some advice? You never call him. But if he calls you you talk to him, then act like you have another call, keep him on hold for a long time. Like longer than you think is passable. And break dates. Always break dates. Right around the holidays cus then he's just stuck. And fellatio, the sooner the better. And allot. Act like you love it. After he's aditcted, cut him off. That's when you got him. Mirabelle: Ya, I couldn't do all that. Lisa Cramer: How come? Mirabelle: I'm from Vermont.
Christian: Look, if there's a problem, I could come back. Elder Aaron Davis: Look, maybe I'm just homesick. Christian: Homesick? For Idaho? Elder Aaron Davis: Okay, fine, but... Christian: I'm sorry, that came out wrong. I'm... It's just... When I left home, it was just 'zoom', like a rocket. But if you've never been away from home before... Have you? Elder Aaron Davis: What? I've been away from home, just not for two whole years. Christian: [in an English accent] 'Could be worse, could be raining.' Elder Aaron Davis: That's Young Frankenstein. Christian: Yeah. So two years, huh? Elder Aaron Davis: Yeah. We're not allowed to call or go home in the holidays and they're not allowed to visit. Christian: Wow, where do I sign up? Elder Aaron Davis: Hey. Happen to like my family. 'After all, a boy's best friend is his mother.' Christian: [confused for a while, then gets it] Psycho, that's Psycho, right? 'She goes a bit mad sometimes. We all go a bit mad sometimes.' [Aaron laughs] Christian: Least you got your friends here, right? Elder Aaron Davis: What, Ryder? No. We just got assigned to each other a few weeks ago. Christian: Oh. Well, better you than me.
Kevin Gnapoor: [rapping] Yo Yo Yo! All you sucka MCs ain't got nothin' on me! From my grades, to my lines you can't touch Kevin G! I'm a mathlete, so nerd is inferred, but forget what you heard I'm like James Bond the third, sh-sh-sh-shaken not stirred - I'm Kevin Gnapoor! The G's silent when I sneak through your door. And make love to your woman on the bathroom floor. I don't play it like Shaggy, you'll know it was me. Cause the next time you see her she'll be like, OOH! KEVIN G! [cut off] Mr. Duvall: Thank you Kevin, that's enough! Kevin Gnapoor: Happy holidays everybody! Mr. Duvall: K.G. and the power of 3!
Rita Boyle: ...life's a busman's holiday with you!
Arthur Clutten: You on holiday too, Mr Cooper? Michael Cooper: No, I'm afraid not, I'm actually running away. Arthur Clutten: From what? Michael Cooper: Love, Mr Rigby, you must have been in love. If it doesn't work out you either kill yourself or you run away to forget. And its not in my religion to try suicide. Arthur Clutten: Sometimes living can be just as painful.
I think holidays create so much pressure because people feel they should be having a good time. But you shouldn't.
Villiers: [calling M up in the middle of the night] He's in the Bahamas. M: You woke me to share his holiday plans?
Jennifer: Thanks for sharing the Holiday spirit, psycho.
Damien Wiles: [voice in Bishop's telephone] Garrett Hotel, front desk in one half hour. Malik Bishop: Mm-mm. No, I don't work on holidays. Damien Wiles: It says here you work on Sundays *and* holidays. I got it right here. Malik Bishop: No, shoot, Man, get Sala. He works on Sundays *and* holidays. Damien Wiles: A special two-hour "Homicide" is coming on tonight. He won't come. Malik Bishop: Listen, f*** that. Get the Milkman. He don't even celebrate holidays. Damien Wiles: He's in D.C. Malik Bishop: D.C.? Everybody flying to D.C... No, man, how am I gonna get down to some 'telly? I got greens on right now. Damien Wiles: Holiday pay. Malik Bishop: [Voiceover, to the audience] Well, after a little arm-twisting, I decided to do it. Hell, holiday pay seemed pretty good to me, 'specially since I was planning to disappear after this job. A little extra padding in the nest egg wouldn't hurt nobody.
[first lines] Sam Krichinsky: I came to America in 1914 - by way of Philadelphia. That's where I got off the boat. And then I came to Baltimore. It was the most beautiful place you ever seen in your life. There were lights everywhere! What lights they had! It was a celebration of lights! I thought they were for me, Sam, who was in America. Sam was in America! I didn't know what holiday it was, but there were lights. And I walked under them. The sky exploded, people cheered, there were fireworks! What a welcome it was, what a welcome!
CAPTION: And with the holidays came memories of childhood. [Speaking to the camera.] Dejected husband: And... and when I was a kid I always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, alweez, alweezelweasel, weasel, weasel... When I was a kid I was such a fucking weasel and I nnhhh... [Bangs his head into the camera.]
Sitting aimlessly in bedrooms- often on the bed itself- is another characteristic feature of the English holidays. The meal was over and it was only twenty five past seven. 'The evening stretches before us,' Viola said gloomily.
Mordechai Jefferson Carver: [talking on the phone] I need you to get in contact with the Worldwide Jewish Media Conspiracy and mass-produce every holiday movie that has a Jewish protagonist who is depicted in a positive light. JJL Chief Bloomenbergensteinenthal: So you want me to mass produce "Yentl," "Fiddler on the Roof," and Chaim Potok's "The Chosen"? Mordechai Jefferson Carver: Right.
[first lines] Santa: 'Twas a long time ago, longer now than it seems in a place perhaps you've seen in your dreams. For the story you're about to be told began with the holiday worlds of auld. Now you've probably wondered where holidays come from. If you haven't I'd say it's time you begun.
Asha: A holiday in Goa.
Favorite holiday: Christmas. "It will always be number one on my list. You feel cozy for like two months straight. You sing songs, all the stories look exactly the same. There's no other holiday where everybody decorates. There's a joy and a spirit of excitement that's in the air around Christmastime. It's the best."
Malik: As a black man in America, my stress comes from everywhere. Recognize. Take a look around you. Look at this, Columbus, it disgusts me. Fool wasn't nothin' but a thief, mass murder. He done slaughtered millions of native Americans, and we done got a holiday and university named after his honor.
Lewis: I get turned down more times than the beds at the Holiday Inn.
Aldous Snow: How you served five years under her, I don't know. You deserve a medal, or a holiday or at least a cuddle from somebody.
This, after all, was the month in which families began tightening and closing and sealing; from Thanksgiving to the New Year, everybody's world contracted, day by day, into the microcosmic single festive household, each with its own rituals and obsessions, rules and dreams. You didn't feel you could call people. They didn't feel they could phone you. How does one cry for help from these seasonal prisons?
Thanksgiving dinners take eighteen hours to prepare. They are consumed in twelve minutes. Half-times take twelve minutes. This is not coincidence.
Holiday Speaker: Our round the world cruise started in Skipton. When we booked the tickets. That's them. They were a special offer and it was essential, my wife told me, to book them before the 25th of the month...
My experience in Amsterdam is that cyclists ride where the hell they like and aim in a state of rage at all pedestrians while ringing their bell loudly, the concept of avoiding people being foreign to them. My dream holiday would be a) a ticket to Amsterdam b) immunity from prosecution and c) a baseball bat.
Ultimately, the roast turkey must be regarded as a monument to Boomer's love. Look at it now, plump and glossy, floating across Idaho as if it were a mammoth, mutated seed pod. Hear how it backfires as it passes the silver mines, perhaps in tribute to the origin of the knives and forks of splendid sterling that a roast turkey and a roast turkey alone possesses the charisma to draw forth into festivity from dark cupboards. See how it glides through the potato fields, familiarly at home among potatoes but with an air of expectation, as if waiting for the flood of gravy. The roast turkey carries with it, in its chubby hold, a sizable portion of our primitive and pagan luggage. Primitive and pagan? Us? We of the laser, we of the microchip, we of the Union Theological Seminary and Time magazine? Of course. At least twice a year, do not millions upon millions of us cybernetic Christians and fax machine Jews participate in a ritual, a highly stylized ceremony that takes place around a large dead bird? And is not this animal sacrificed, as in days of yore, to catch the attention of a divine spirit, to show gratitude for blessings bestowed, and to petition for blessings coveted? The turkey, slain, slowly cooked over our gas or electric fires, is the central figure at our holy feast. It is the totem animal that brings our tribe together. And because it is an awkward, intractable creature, the serving of it establishes and reinforces the tribal hierarchy. There are but two legs, two wings, a certain amount of white meat, a given quantity of dark. Who gets which piece; who, in fact, slices the bird and distributes its limbs and organs, underscores quite emphatically the rank of each member in the gathering. Consider that the legs of this bird are called 'drumsticks,' after the ritual objects employed to extract the music from the most aboriginal and sacred of instruments. Our ancestors, kept their drums in public, but the sticks, being more actively magical, usually were stored in places known only to the shaman, the medicine man, the high priest, of the Wise Old Woman. The wing of the fowl gives symbolic flight to the soul, but with the drumstick is evoked the best of the pulse of the heart of the universe. Few of us nowadays participate in the actual hunting and killing of the turkey, but almost all of us watch, frequently with deep emotion, the reenactment of those events. We watch it on TV sets immediately before the communal meal. For what are footballs if not metaphorical turkeys, flying up and down a meadow? And what is a touchdown if not a kill, achieved by one or the other of two opposing tribes? To our applause, great young hungers from Alabama or Notre Dame slay the bird. Then, the Wise Old Woman, in the guise of Grandma, calls us to the table, where we, pretending to be no longer primitive, systematically rip the bird asunder. Was Boomer Petaway aware of the totemic implications when, to impress his beloved, he fabricated an outsize Thanksgiving centerpiece? No, not consciously. If and when the last veil dropped, he might comprehend what he had wrought. For the present, however, he was as ignorant as Can o' Beans, Spoon, and Dirty Sock were, before Painted Stick and Conch Shell drew their attention to similar affairs. Nevertheless, it was Boomer who piloted the gobble-stilled butterball across Idaho, who negotiated it through the natural carving knives of the Sawtooth Mountains, who once or twice parked it in wilderness rest stops, causing adjacent flora to assume the appearance of parsley.
Christmas it seems to me is a necessary festival; we require a season when we can regret all the flaws in our human relationships: it is the feast of failure, sad but consoling.
A bell, though -- that's fucked up.
Thank you,
It came to him that he didn't like holidays. . . . They bore down on you. Each one always ended up feeling like an exam . . .
After all, the best part of a holiday is perhaps not so much to be resting yourself, as to see all the other fellows busy working.
On a busy day twenty-two thousand people come to visit Santa, and I was told that it is an elf's lot to remain merry in the face of torment and adversity. I promised to keep that in mind.
In the old days, it was not called the Holiday Season; the Christians called it 'Christmas' and went to church; the Jews called it 'Hanukkah' and went to synagogue; the atheists went to parties and drank. People passing each other on the street would say 'Merry Christmas!' or 'Happy Hanukkah!' or (to the atheists) 'Look out for the wall!
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